Three sharp, rhythmic raps struck the heavy timber of Noel’s study door.

  "Enter," Ravvi commanded, having caught the imperceptible nod of assent from his master.

  The door swung inward. A senior operative from House Sanjaya’s Division of Information and Counter-Propaganda crossed the threshold.

  His name was Haruto. His attire was immaculate, yet purplish, bruised-looking bags sagged beneath his pallid eyes—the physical toll of inhuman waking hours during this crisis. He bore a tactical data-slate, its display casting a harsh glare in the dim room.

  Haruto did not seek a chair. He stood rigid before Noel’s massive ironwood desk, taking his place beside Ravvi.

  A faint tang of ozone and printer's ink wafted from his garments, the distinct, sterile stench of subterranean server vaults and data catacombs.

  "Reporting, Young Master," Haruto’s voice was a stagnant pool, flowing smoothly despite the catastrophic nature of his tidings. "Operation Echo Chamber proceeds strictly within acceptable parameters."

  He laid the slate upon the desk, pivoting the screen so Noel could observe the jagged graphs of global sentiment.

  "The outside world has swallowed our bait whole. The footage of Prince William 'rampaging' at the UN assembly has gone viral across all known networks. Our operatives have heightened the visual contrast—deepening the shadows beneath his eyes, granting him the aura of a 'charismatic lunatic'. The global narrative has violently shifted from 'diplomatic inquiry' to 'absolute terror of a deranged regime'."

  Noel’s obsidian eyes traced the violently plunging graph. The crimson line, representing the world's revulsion toward Carta, had shattered the ceiling of the charts.

  He offered a slow, deliberate nod. Excellent.

  "However..." Haruto’s voice dipped an octave lower. "There is a substantial counter-offensive from Salomos."

  This story has been taken without authorization. Report any sightings.

  Haruto swiped the slate's display to the succeeding visual. A blazing, blood-red headline materialized: "THE MAD PRINCE".

  "Ramos Boa's media syndicates operate with lethal efficiency, Young Master. They do not merely bombard Carta’s external networks; they have begun to infiltrate our internal frequencies. Our information firewalls are springing leaks."

  Haruto pointed to a secondary graph, displaying a massive spike in illicit transmissions flooding the devices of Carta's citizenry.

  "They are delivering terror directly into the hands of the populace: 'Your King feasts upon corpses,' 'Famine is imminent.' Our algorithms have detected a volatile shift in the psychological atmosphere within the bazaars and coffeehouses. The commoners are beginning to doubt. Dread is slithering in, suffocating their previous euphoria."

  Ravvi, standing dutifully at the flank, furrowed his brow. "Shall we enact total jamming protocols across their signals?"

  Haruto shook his head slowly, lifting his gaze to Noel, seeking permission to present his analysis.

  "My counsel, Young Master... is to let it bleed through."

  Noel arched a single, dark eyebrow.

  "Ramos Boa is a masterful orator," Haruto continued, his tone betraying a sliver of clinical admiration. "He utilizes raw emotion as kindling. But... this very assault from Salomos actually fortifies our position."

  Haruto met Noel’s gaze with unwavering conviction.

  "They are providing the most flawless distraction. While the globe and our own citizens are consumed by stoking the fires of hatred and terror surrounding this 'Mad Prince' hysteria, not a single eye is turned toward the north. No one is questioning the troop movements in the Iron Mountains."

  Haruto offered a razor-thin smile—the distinct smirk of an information manipulator.

  "Their falsehoods serve as a thick blanket, keeping our true secrets warm in the dark. The more they perceive us as deranged monsters, the less they will dare approach when the gate truly tears open."

  Noel sat in silence for a fleeting moment, studying his operative.

  It was a razor-sharp deduction. Perfectly aligned with the doctrine of House Sanjaya: Weaponize your enemy to shield your own throat.

  Noel reached out and took the data-slate.

  He stared at the glaring "THE MAD PRINCE" headline one final time.

  Then, his right hand moved.

  He pointed at Haruto, then gestured toward the heavy door with a smooth, open-palmed motion.

  [Proceed. Sustain the narrative.]

  Haruto bowed deeply, a gesture of profound reverence.

  "It shall be done, Young Master. I will ensure the world remains captivated by this fictional theater until the very stage collapses beneath them."

  The operative turned on his heel and strode out, leaving the study to be swallowed by silence once more.

  Noel settled back into the embrace of his heavy chair.

  Let the outside world boil over.

  Here, within the eye of the storm, everything was proceeding with immaculate precision.